I used to be a tailor once in times when I was free, I knew just how to fit a man their suits fit perfectly.
But now I stand with frozen hands too cold to even move, while just ahead a Nazi stands- his uniform so smooth.
It must be nice to feel so warm his pants tucked in his boots, and an added touch their long pea coats to shield snow from their suits.
With cigarettes they talk and laugh in towers high and warm, while I stand frozen quietly shaking in my tattered uniform.
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Author:
HolesInMyJeans (
Offline) - Published: May 26th, 2025 21:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Damaso
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Comments2
A sad and haunting write, I believe of a horrific part of our history, that should never be forgotten, nicely expressed and written
Thank you. Much appreciated
You are very welcome
There seems to be layers to this poem. Uniform is a most interesting title as it can be a noun and adjective. As the latter we see in the poem that there is no uniformity as in many regimes there is discrimination that can extend to genocide in the complete rejection of others and here even the uniforms are not uniform. Lovely write and quite clever a fave
Thank you very much!
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